


His Mother's Dishes

by palominopup



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Antiques Dealer Cas, Baseball Player Dean, M/M, baseball AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-22
Updated: 2016-06-22
Packaged: 2018-07-16 16:43:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7275913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/palominopup/pseuds/palominopup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An antiques dealer helps Sam and Dean after their father dies by arranging for an estate sale. Sparks fly between Dean and Castiel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	His Mother's Dishes

**Author's Note:**

> This was for a challenge posted in the FB page Destiel Fanfic Writers and Readers. We were given a song to listen to and a world we picked out of the dictionary with our eyes closed. The word was 'dishes". Hope you enjoy.

 

 

 

 

Castiel pounded the sign in the front lawn of the pretty two-story home. The estate sale would begin tomorrow morning, bright and early. That left him the rest of today to inventory and price the items in the house.

  
Sam, the young man he’d been dealing with, was waiting on the porch. “Good morning, Sam.”

  
“Morning, Castiel.” He moved to the side and let Castiel enter the house. In his line of work, he heard a lot of sad stories. This one was one of the saddest. Sam’s mother had died in a fire when he was just an infant. His father turned to alcohol and left Sam and his older brother to take care of each other. Just a week ago, John Winchester succumbed to cirrhosis of the liver. “Do you need me to do anything?”

  
Castiel looked around the room. There weren’t any valuable antiques, the furniture was just dated. “Not really. I may have some questions with regard to some of the items, but you can go about your business.”

  
“Yeah, okay.” Sam shuffled his feet and shoved his hands into his pockets. “Yeah, I’ll just be upstairs reading. Dean, my brother should be here sometime this morning. He’s driving in from L.A.”

  
“Oh, I wasn’t aware he didn’t make the funeral.”

  
“He didn’t…him and Dad didn’t see eye to eye.” Castiel understood. Having an alcoholic father couldn’t have been easy on the two boys.

  
Two hours later, Castiel had made his way through pricing the living room and was now in the dining room. Obviously, the room wasn’t used much. Castiel opened the door in the bottom of the hutch and found a large cardboard box. He took his pocket knife and slid the edge under the tape. “Oh.”

  
Inside was a set of china. And not just any china. It was William-Yeoward Gosford. At almost five hundred dollars a place serving, if this was complete, the Winchesters were looking at well over five thousand dollars.

  
“That was my grandmother’s. She gave them to my mom for a wedding gift.” A rough baritone from behind him startled him. Thank God, he’d sat the plate on the floor already. He turned and looked up. From his place on the carpet, the man looked very tall. And very familiar. Castiel got to his feet and held out his hand.

  
“I’m Castiel Novak. I was hired by your brother to run the estate sale.”

  
“Yeah, he told me you’d be here.” The other man was staring at the dishes, not making eye contact with Castiel. Why was he so familiar? Dean. Winchester. Dean Winchester. He hadn’t put two and two together.

  
“Oh…you’re…him.”

  
There was a slight quirk of those pretty lips. Lips that graced televisions from coast to coast during baseball season. As the pitcher for the L.A. Hunters, Dean Winchester’s name flooded the tabloids when he came out as gay two years ago. Castiel didn’t follow baseball until then. Now, he was a fan of the team.

  
“Yeah, I’m him.” He toed the cardboard box with the toe of a very expensive boot. “These aren’t going to be sold.”

  
“I understand. You can discuss that with your brother. I believe this set may be valued at over five thousand dollars.”

  
“Money isn’t important to me.” Castiel supposed it wasn’t. He was one of the highest paid pitchers in the American League. He turned away and walked towards the staircase. Castiel hung his head. Dean Winchester looked so sad. It didn’t match what Sam said. Then again, he was still the man’s father, even if they didn’t get along.

  
Since he was being paid to catalog everything, he’d still inventory and price the china. They might need an appraisal value for insurance purposes. He cleared the table of the crystal vases he’d taken out of the hutch and began to unpack the box. When they were all laid out on the table, Castiel could barely contain his excitement. Ten complete place settings, plus platters and serving bowls. He punched the keys on his calculator. Close to eight thousand dollars. Castiel would love to have these for his shop. He had several clients that would pay dearly for them.

  
Raised voices came down the stairs and Castiel looked up. “I don’t give a flying fuck, Sam. I just want it over and done with.”

  
“Why did you even bother to come home, Dean?”

  
“Home? That’s fuckin’ rich. This place hasn’t been a home since mom died.”

  
“And that cold mansion you live in is a home?”

  
“Fuck you…just…fuck you.”

  
“Dean, please…I don’t want to fight with you. We barely see each other.”

  
The voices lowered and Castiel couldn’t make out anything else. He felt bad for eavesdropping, but he couldn’t very well help it.

  
Their tread on the stairs made Castiel attempt to look busy. “I said these weren’t for sale.”

  
“Yes, I know. I just wanted to give you an estimate for insurance purposes.” Castiel met the man’s green eyes and held them. Neither looked away until Sam cleared his throat.

  
“You want these, Dean?” Sam asked, indicating the dishes with a wave of his hand.

  
“Yeah.”

  
Castiel was disappointed when the two brothers went outside, leaving him alone again. He worked steadily for the rest of the day. Upstairs, he stood at the door of Dean’s old room. Baseball trophies from high school games lined a bookcase. A single bed, a desk, a dresser and the bookcase were the only furniture in the room.

  
“Doubt you’ll get much for this crap,” Dean said from behind him. Damn the man was light on his feet.

  
“I would suggest keeping your trophies, but if you don’t want them, I’m sure some of your fans would pay a good amount of money for them.”

  
The pitcher laughed and picked up one of them. “Right, who wouldn’t want a trophy from Dean Winchester’s high school glory days?”

  
Castiel sensed the question was rhetorical and didn’t respond. He set down his clipboard and calculator on the desk. This was the last room he had to do and having the beautiful man standing there wasn’t helping his concentration. “Perhaps you would like to let me know what you want to take with you?”

  
Dean looked around the room and shrugged. “Sell it all.”

  
When Castiel came back downstairs, Dean was sitting at the table, a gentle fingertip tracing the colorful pattern on one of the plates. “I’m finished with the inventory. Is Sam here?”

  
“He left to meet his wife for dinner.”

  
“Oh.” Castiel was supposed to go over things with him before the sale tomorrow. Suddenly at a loss, Castiel sighed. Dean smiled. A brilliant smile that made Castiel’s mouth suddenly dry.

  
“You can give me the info, I don’t bite.”

  
“Okay…well…” Castiel sat down at the table across from Dean. “I cataloged everything and put prices on all the items for sale. The pieces that Sam indicated he wanted to keep have a yellow tag. My assistant and I will be here at six to make the final preparations. The dealers usually get here anywhere between seven and seven-thirty. We will open to the public at nine.” Castiel looked down at the beautiful dishes still gracing the table. “I can help you box these back up, if you’d like.”

  
“Sure. Thanks.” They were quiet for a few moments, both intent on carefully wrapping each piece in the roll of bubble wrap that Castiel produced from the trunk of his car. “I don’t remember much about mom,” Dean said softly, his hands still on a bowl.

  
“You were very young,” Castiel murmured, setting another bowl in the box.

  
“Yeah. I look at the pictures and I guess that’s where my memories come from, but these…” Dean indicated the box. “I remember these for some reason. I liked the colors. Sammy was in his high chair. I think it must have been someone’s birthday because there was a cake.”

  
Castiel listened, his own hands unmoving now.

  
“I remember the night she died. Dad shoved Sam in my arms and told me to run outside. The firetrucks arrived and Sammy was crying. Dad came out of the house. It was the first time I saw him cry.” Dean shrugged and placed the bowl into the box. “Things were shitty after that. Dad drank all the time. I was left to take care of Sam.”

  
“You did a fine job, Dean.”

  
Dean looked up and frowned. “Yeah, well, can’t believe I just shared that. Look, I don’t like my personal business in the tabloids. I’ve had enough of that shit to last a lifetime. So, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t sell that to the highest bidder.”

  
Castiel narrowed his eyes. “I’m not sure what type of person you think I am, but I cannot be bought. Nor would I share someone’s personal story with anyone.” Castiel put the last bowl in the box. He calmly picked up his clipboard and turned away. He was to the front door before Dean spoke, his voice harsh.

  
“Everybody has a price. Fans are the worst.”

  
Castiel stopped, his hand on the doorknob. “Well, I’m not a fan anymore.” He slammed the door with a bit more force than necessary. All the way home, he fumed. Dean may have had a terrible childhood, and God knows the media raked him over the coals when he came out, but it didn’t excuse his rude behavior. He prayed that Dean would not be around tomorrow.

  
***

  
He woke with his alarm and quickly showered. On the way to the Winchester house, he swung into his shop. He was proud of the small antique shop he’d owned for the last ten years. He turned off the alarm and walked through the showroom, lightly touching some of his favorite pieces. The bell over the door rang and he called out. “Just let me get the cash register and I’ll be ready, Charlie.”

  
“You need help with that?”

  
Castiel spun around. “Damn it, do you have to keep sneaking up on me? What are you doing here?” After yesterday, Castiel didn’t feel the need to be professional and polite anymore.

  
Dean Winchester looked sheepish. He didn’t answer Castiel’s question. Instead, he looked around the shop. “Nice place.” He ran his hand over the old saddle Castiel had displayed next to several pair of old cowboy boots. “You ride?”

  
“No. Could you tell me why you are here?”

  
“Because I was an asshole and I wanted to apologize.” Dean met his gaze. Castiel could tell from his posture and expression that Dean Winchester didn’t say his was sorry very often.

  
“Apology accepted,” Castiel said coolly.

  
“Now, see, you didn’t mean that.” Dean crossed his arms and leaned against the walnut chifferobe he’d bought on a trip to Georgia earlier in the month. Castiel studied the other man for a moment. Wearing well-worn jeans and a heavy leather jacket, he looked gorgeous. His expression was one of amusement and there was a sparkle in his eyes.

  
“Didn’t mean what?

  
“You said you accepted my apology, but the tone of your voice told me that you didn’t mean it.”

  
Castiel pulled himself up to his full height, still an inch or so shorter than Dean. “Sometimes an apology doesn’t mean anything. It’s just empty words.”

  
Dean took a step closer, getting into Castiel’s personal space. “I meant it,” he whispered. “I’m sorry I was an ass. It’s hard for me to trust people. Chalk it up to being a character flaw.”

  
Castiel tilted his head sideways. “Now, it seems it is my turn to apologize for not accepting your apology at face value.”

  
The other man laughed and Castiel loved the sound, he smiled. Dean seemed to collect his thoughts and pointed to a Duncan Phyfe dining room table and matching chairs. “That’s nice. How much?”

  
“That is a Duncan Phyfe, made of mahogany. The set is nine thousand.”

  
Dean whistled. “Old shit is expensive, huh?”

  
“That is one way of putting it,” Castiel answered, a soft smile touching his lips.

  
“Hey, Boss, sorry I’m late, but I brought donuts to make up for…oh, sorry.” Charlie skidded to a stop and looked up at Dean. “Didn’t know we had company.”

  
“Charlie, this is Dean Winchester, he’s one of the owners of the estate we are doing this morning.” She held out her small hand, balancing the box of donuts on her other palm.

  
Dean reached out and enveloped her hand in his. Castiel noted how tan they were. He imagined they were callused from playing baseball for so long. He wondered how they would feel on his skin. Heat colored his face. Those kinds of thoughts would get him nowhere.

  
“We should go,” he said abruptly, cutting off Charlie’s question about Dean’s jacket. Both turned to him. Charlie’s face was questioning and Dean just looked confused.

  
“Yeah, sure. I guess I’ll see you there,” Dean said to both of them before exiting the shop.

  
“Way to be rude, Dude.”

  
“We just don’t have all day to sit around and chat about Dean’s wardrobe.”

  
She didn’t say another word as they loaded their supplies into Castiel’s car. Once he pulled out into traffic, she turned in her seat. “He was hot…really hot…for a guy.”

  
“I didn’t notice.”

  
“You are so screwed.”

  
“Shut up, Charlie.”

  
***

  
The house was full of dealers. So far, Sam and Dean had stayed out of the way on the back deck. The temperature had warmed somewhat as it closer to noon. Castiel noticed Dean had taken off his leather jacket. The gray henley looked good on him. He was drinking a beer. Castiel caught Charlie’s grin and he turned away. He busied himself with helping someone pack up the small collection of albums.

  
At two, Castiel removed the sign from the front yard. He was pleased with the outcome of the sale. The majority of the furniture was sold and awaiting pick up. There were a few housewares left, but he’d suggest to the brothers that what wasn’t sold be donated to a local charity.

  
He sat down at the dining room table with his calculator and cash register receipts. He felt a presence beside him, but was tabulating the numbers and he didn’t look up. He totaled it out and then glanced up. Dean sat there, staring at him. “I have the final numbers, if you want to get Sam…”

  
“What are you doing tonight?”

  
“What am I doing tonight?” Castiel said and groaned.

  
Dean chuckled. “Are you always this cute?”

  
“Kittens and puppies are cute,” Castiel retorted, mind still reeling. Was Dean Winchester asking him out?

  
“And so are adorable antique dealers with incredible blue eyes.” Castiel knew he was blushing.

  
“Why are you doing this?”

  
“What?” Dean asked innocently. Oh, yes, he had the innocent look down to a science.

  
“Flirting with me. How do you even know…”

  
“You’re gay? I may have asked Charlie if you were single and into dick.” Now, he just looked smug.

  
“Is that what this is? A booty call?”

  
Dean laughed. It was a whole body laugh. He slapped his thighs. “Booty call? Really?” Dean tugged on Castiel’s tie. “Sweetheart, you are way to stuffy to use that term.”

  
“Then what is this?” Castiel was getting frustrated. He felt like he was being toyed with.

  
“I’m going be in town for the next couple of days…” he shrugged. “…and I just thought we could hang out.”

  
At Castiel’s hesitation, Dean sobered. “Look, Cas…can I call you Cas…got I gotta say, Castiel is a mouthful…” Castiel nodded and Dean continued. “…I’m not looking for a ‘booty call’. I don’t fuck fans. That comes back to bite you in the ass. I just thought we could grab a beer or two.”

  
“Yet, you are flirting with me and you asked Charlie if I was single and into…dick. If you just wanted to grab a beer, you didn’t have to go through all that trouble.”

  
“Look, if you don’t want to go, just say so.” Dean stood up and made a move to walk away.

  
“Why do you want to hang out with me?” Castiel tossed the question out and watched Dean’s face. A cloud seemed to fall over his eyes.

  
“You don’t gush over me. Shit, you treat me like just a regular guy.” He raked his fingers through his short hair.

  
“You don’t get that very often do you?" Castiel asked quietly.

  
Dean sat back down. “No. People always want something.” He traced his fingers over the wood grain of the table. Castiel waited. The clock on the wall of the dining room ticked softly. “After I came out…all these men wanted to go out with me…” He pinched the bridge of his nose and then rubbed his hand nervously on the back of his neck. He gave a short bark of laughter. “Hell, I took this one guy out and right in the middle of dinner, he brings out a fucking baseball and wants me to sign it.”

  
Castiel couldn’t imagine doing that while on a date with a man as beautiful as Dean. “What did you do?”

  
He shrugged and shook his head. “I fuckin’ signed it. And then the motherfucker asked for tickets. See, this is why I don’t get involved with fans. Everyone wants something.”

  
“Not all fans are that…” Castiel searched for the word he needed. “…shitty.” It wasn’t the most eloquent, but it fit.

  
“Sam says I don’t give people enough credit, but it’s hard…ya know?”

  
“I can’t begin to imagine, Dean. I know that if we were dating, I would be dating you, not your baseball career. Not your public persona. I would want to know the real Dean Winchester. I would want to know your favorite color and not your stats. I would like to know what type of movies you like and not your RBI…” Castiel let his voice fade, knowing he probably said too much.

  
“Blue, like your eyes. And I like action movies…Die Hard, Star Wars, Batman, Indiana Jones.”

  
***

  
They did have that beer. Dean made Castiel laugh. At the end of the evening they parted ways. Castiel tried to forget the man who he could have easily fallen in love with.

  
The holidays came and went. It was a busy time at the shop. January turned into February. Castiel sat in his living room watching ESPN. Spring training started and the commentators were talking about the various teams.

  
_“Winchester looked good at the end of last season, but I think we are all wondering how his arm is going to hold up. The guy is thirty-seven.”_

  
_“There were rumors about him being bumped down to the farm league, but honestly, I think that was just the homophobes’ wishful thinking. His arm is still worth millions.”_

  
_“Has he even mentioned retirement?”_

  
_“No, Pat, not once. And I’ve seen all his interviews.”_

  
_“I gotta say, Dave, when he came out of the closet, I expected a lot of repercussions. But damned if he didn’t gain a bigger following.”_

  
The commentators moved on to another team and Castiel turned off the television.

  
The next morning, he was polishing a new Chippendale table he’d taken on consignment when the bell rang. Charlie was in the back updating their computers, so Castiel set the bottle and rag on the table and headed to the front of the shop. He was surprised to see Sam Winchester standing there.

  
“Sam. It’s nice to see you. Can I help you find something? A gift perhaps?”

  
“No, I just stopped by to deliver something…from Dean.”

  
“From Dean,” Castiel repeated stupidly.

  
“Yeah.” He held out an envelope and Castiel took it. It wasn’t sealed so he opened it and frowned. Inside was a ticket to the opening game for the L.A. Hunters. Another folded piece of paper revealed an airplane ticket to L.A.

  
“I don’t understand.”

  
Sam shuffled his feet and looked around the shop before bringing his eyes back to Castiel. “Dean has a hard time with people. He doesn’t have many friends. Mainly because he’s been used so many times. He liked you. He said you treated him like a real person…and I think…you made him happy. I can’t begin to guess if he’s someone you would want to get to know…God, I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

  
“Did Dean send you?”

  
“No. That…” He pointed to the envelope. “…that’s all me. The ticket is right behind home plate. It’s just that …he mentions you when we talk. He even asks about the shop. He spent fifteen minutes one day going on and on about some guy named Duncan and a table he saw here.”

  
“It was a Duncan Phyfe.” Castiel pointed to the dining room suite that he hadn’t sold. Oh, it had a sold sticker on it, but Castiel hadn’t been able to part with it for some reason. “Sam, I can’t accept this. It’s too much.”

  
“My brother’s happiness means everything to me, Castiel. Having you at one of his games…just as a friend…it would mean the world to him…and me.” Sam ran his teeth over his lower lip. He recalled Dean doing something similar.

  
“Okay,” Castiel whispered.

  
“Okay? You’ll go.”

  
“I’ll go.”

  
***

  
March seemed to drag on forever. He’d seen Sam a few times over the last few weeks. Once he brought his pretty wife into the shop and he bought her a Lladro figurine. It was a woman holding an infant. Castiel wondered if the couple were having a child. He didn’t pry.

  
Saturday morning, Castiel boarded a plane at the Kansas City Airport. He took a taxi to a hotel near the stadium. That evening he ate a quiet meal in the hotel’s restaurant. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to sleep, so he ordered a shot of Stolichnaya. The vodka was smooth going down and he held up his finger for another.

  
The next day, the stadium was crowded with the opening day fans. Castiel walked around the concourse and bought a t-shirt for Charlie and a cap for himself. He made his way to his seat. He was in the first row. How had Sam scored these seats? Oh, right, his brother was the pitcher. The crowd stood and cheered as the Hunters took the field. They were playing the Minnesota Twins. There were a few boos and catcalls as they entered the stadium. Castiel spotted Dean right away. Number Twenty-Seven was throwing warm-up pitches to another player. He was smiling at something the other player said.

  
“Isn’t he gorgeous?” Castiel wasn’t sure the woman was talking to him until he turned her way. She was a pretty blonde.

  
“Who?” He really didn’t know who she was talking about. Several of the players were nice to look at.

  
“Winchester. Too bad he’s gay.” The man beside her laughed.

  
“She’s had a crush on him since he was in the minors. It broke her heart when he came out.” Castiel saw the matching wedding bands and smiled.

  
“Did it…I wondered how that announcement made you feel? As fans?” Castiel asked, his eyes drifting back to the players.

  
“Shit, we didn’t care. He’s a great pitcher,” the man said.

  
“And he does so much for the local kids.” Castiel frowned. Why hadn’t he heard about that?

  
“What kinds of things?”

  
“Gosh, let’s see…he visits the children’s hospital several times a month. He does free baseball clinics for underprivileged kids…” She looked at her husband for help.

  
“At Christmas, he bought gifts to the local homeless shelter and he volunteered at a food pantry.”

  
“Why doesn’t the media talk about these things?” Castiel was stunned.

  
“He doesn’t make it public. I only know because I work in the Hunters’ PR department,” said the man.

  
The National Anthem began to play and everyone stood. Castiel watched Dean as he stood with his team, hat in hand against his chest. He was singing along with the words.

  
The announcer’s named the lineup after the anthem ended and when Dean’s name was called, he waved to the crowd and ran to the dugout. The mayor of L.A. threw out the first pitch and the game was on. The Hunters were first at bat. Castiel looked at the program and saw that Dean was fourth at bat.

  
As Benny Lafitte, the Hunters’ third baseman took the bat, Dean was on deck. He was already wearing his helmet and chewing gum. He swung the bat a few times and then stopped as the pitcher wound up. They had a man on third and first, with one out. If Lafitte got a hit, the Hunters would draw first blood. The loud ting sound and the ball flew down the first base line. Castiel stood and shouted as the first runner passed home plate. The other runner was safe on second. Lafitte was sacrificed. Two outs.

  
Castiel looked back at the plate, anxious to see Dean hit. He was shocked when his eyes met Dean’s. The bat hung from Dean’s hands. The coach said something to Dean, but he didn’t move. The crowd buzzed. The announcer spoke. _“Winchester is taking his sweet time getting to the plate. What’s going on down there?”_

  
The coach got in Dean’s face and seemed to snap Dean out of his shock. He took the plate and set the bat. Castiel could see the pitcher nodding at the catcher’s signal. A fastball was shot right up the middle. Dean swung.

  
“Strike One,” shouted the umpire.

  
“Dean, you have this,” Castiel whispered.

  
The pitcher sent a curveball and Dean tipped it. The ball bobbled midway between homeplate and the mound. The runner on second took off for third. Dean dropped the bat and sprinted towards first base. Castiel saw the pitcher scoop up the ball and he hesitated a second too long in his decision on which runner to get out. Both men were safe. Castiel’s heart was thudding.

  
“I have to ask, do you know Winchester?” The blonde was leaning towards him, curiosity in her eyes.

  
“I’ve met him once or twice.”

  
“It seemed like he sure knew you…or wanted to…” she said slyly.

  
Castiel turned back to the game. The next batter struck out and Dean walked back towards the dugout, but at the last minute he went to the fence behind the plate. “Cas? What are you doing here?”

  
“I…uhm…” Castiel knew the couple was listening intently. “Sam gave me a ticket.” Like that explained everything.

  
“Winchester, leave your boyfriend alone and get on the mound,” the coach, Bobby Singer, shouted.

  
Dean’s fingers had been gripping the chainlink and he quickly released it and backed away. “Don’t go anywhere,” he mouthed before turning and jogging out to the mound. Castiel loved the way his pants hugged his tight ass.

  
Castiel could tell the blonde was bursting with questions, but her husband shushed her, telling her quietly to leave him alone.

  
Dean pitched three strikes in a row and the crowd was chanting his name. Castiel felt a rush of pride.

  
It wasn’t until the sixth inning that Dean was up to bat again. He didn’t look at Castiel as he set the bat. There was the pitch. Dean swung and the thwack of the ball hitting the bat seemed to echo. Dean ran for first. Castiel watched the ball. It flew over the outfielders’ heads. One of the Minnesota players leapt up, but he couldn’t reach it and it disappeared over the fence. The crowd went wild. Music screamed from the PA system. Dean’s face was on the jumbotron. He rounded second and headed for third. Two runners touched home before him. The Hunters were up six to five. Castiel was on the edge of his seat. He felt the sudden urge to kiss Dean.

  
Dean’s teammates were slapping his ass and hugging him. He was grinning and Castiel could barely contain his excitement.

  
It was the bottom of the ninth and the Hunters now led by two. He was sipping on a frozen lemonade when a man in a Hunters’ polo shirt tapped him on the shoulder. “Could you follow me, please?”

  
“I…sure.” Castiel gathered his program and his trash, making sure to drop it in the garbage can before following the man out onto the concourse. “Can I ask where we are going?”

  
“Locker room.”

  
“Huh…what?”

  
“Winchester says you’re a VIP.”

  
“Oh.” Castiel didn’t know what to say to that, so he followed meekly behind the man. With the game still going on, the locker room was quiet. Castiel looked around. He’d seen locker rooms on television when the reporters interviewed players, but he’d never dreamed he’d be in one. He saw Dean’s locker, the name Winchester emblazoned on the top. He turned to ask if he could get closer, but the man was gone.

  
Afraid to touch anything, Castiel stood awkwardly in the center of the room. He heard the clang of a metal door and then what sounded like cleats on a tile floor. He looked towards the sound and Dean entered the room. He stopped.

  
Stupidly, Castiel said, “But the game isn’t over.”

  
“Relief pitcher is in,” Dean said gruffly. “Cas, why are you here?”

  
“I told you…Sam…”

  
“Damn it, Cas. I got that, but why did you come.”

  
“I don’t know…” Castiel said so softly that he wasn’t sure if Dean could hear him. Why did he come? What was it about this man that drew him like a moth to a flame? He wasn’t like this. He was careful with who he dated. Not that he dated much. There weren’t a lot of eligible gay men in Lawrence, Kansas.

  
They stood staring at each other. Castiel could hear the crowd. The music. He wasn’t sure who made the first move, but they were kissing. Castiel breathed in Dean’s scent, clean sweat, a hint of aftershave. When they came up for air, Dean rested his forehead against Castiel’s. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

  
“What do you…where is this going, Dean?”

  
“Fuck if I know.” Dean stepped back and Castiel missed the warmth from his body. “I need to get through this season and I’m announcing my retirement. I don’t know what the future holds for me, Cas. I can’t offer you anything and I know that makes me a selfish bastard, but I’ll take whatever you let me have. Friendship…whatever you want.”

  
“I want it all, Dean. I’m not willing to settle.”

  
Dean looked defeated and he inhaled sharply. “I get it. It’s okay.”

  
“No, I don’t think you do, Dean.” Dean gazed at him quizzically. “When I said I want it all, I meant I want it all with you. I know it’s crazy. We don’t even know each other.”

  
“What’s my favorite color?”

  
“Blue,” Castiel answered automatically.

  
“Then we have something to build on, Cas.”

  
***

  
The first week of October, Castiel boarded a plane to Miami. The Hunters were in Game Seven of the World Series against the Marlins. It was three to three. Whoever won tomorrow night would win the Series. Sam and Jess were already in Miami. He’d be sitting with them as they cheered for Dean and the Hunters. It had been a long season. Somehow, the two men had made it work. They both logged in a lot of skymiles. They managed to keep their relationship out of the media until the Hunters won the pennant. Their celebratory kiss was blown up on the jumbotron and shown in Sports Illustrated. It took Castiel a long time to get used to the reporters shoving microphones in his face. His standard ‘no comment’ didn’t sit well with the sports world. The team’s PR department sent a media coach to teach Castiel how to respond to questions. He still hated the attention, but as long as he got to spend time with Dean, he’d cope.

  
When the Hunters won their third game, a press conference was called and Dean announced his retirement. Job offers poured in for pitching coaches, as a commentator for a major network and of course, spokesman for athletic equipment. Castiel didn’t ask about Dean’s decision. They were happy and he’d support Dean in whatever he decided.

  
Castiel, Sam and Jess sat in the section with the players’ wives and families. In the top of the ninth, the Hunters were down by one. Castiel gripped the handrest so hard his knuckles were white. Dean was on second. The batter swung and the ball sailed over the back fence. Dean and two of his teammates crossed the plate. The Hunters were now up by two. Dean winked at Castiel.

  
The Marlins were up to bat. Dean wound up and let the ball fly. The batter swung.

  
“Strike One.”

  
The announcer took a minute to speak as the batting coach came out to talk to the batter. _“Winchester is on fire today. It would be nice to see him end his career with a World Series win. This pitcher has class, folks.”_

  
“Strike Two.”

  
Castiel’s eyes narrowed. Dean was rubbing his shoulder. Coach Singer held up his hand. He ran to the mound. Castiel saw Dean shaking his head. Singer took of his cap and ran his fingers through his sparse hair. Sam leaned over. “Bobby wants him out of the game. He’s favoring his shoulder.”

  
Castiel shook his head. “He’s stubborn.”

  
Dean wound up and let go. The jumbotron was close up on his face and Castiel saw the wince. The batter swung at the ball.

  
“Strike Three.” Castiel stood and hugged Sam and Jess. The men on the field were lifting Dean up and Castiel grinned. After they let him down, Dean ran to the fence. Castiel met him there, their fingers touching through the chainlink.

  
“Congratulations, Dean. How’s your shoulder.”

  
“Hurts like a motherfucker.” But he was grinning and it was contagious.

  
“I love you, Dean.” Castiel gasped at his slip. They might have been seeing each other exclusively, but neither one had said those three words. Was it too soon? Would he scare Dean away?

  
“I love you too, Cas.” He leaned forward and they kissed through the fence. The fans cheered as they were plastered on the jumbotron.

 

**_A year later…_ **

  
Castiel heard Dean’s car in the driveway and smiled. He looked at the dining room. The table was set for ten with the beautiful china that had been Dean’s grandmother’s and then his mother’s. The Duncan Phyfe table fit beautifully in their dining room.

  
The door opened and Dean walked in. “Babe, I’m home.” Castiel met his fiancé in the hall. He was sweaty and the Lawrence High School polo shirt clung to him. “It’s hot as fuck out there.”

  
“You need to hurry and shower,” Castiel said after they kissed. “Everyone will be here soon.” His future husband slapped his ass and ran up the stairs. Castiel walked to the table and ran his finger over one of the colorful dishes. Tonight, they were sharing their news with their closest friends and family. The adoption went through. His life was perfect, just like the beautiful china.


End file.
